Natural
by TheAnomily
Summary: "She [Raven] may very well be the best natural fighter I have ever trained but she is too strong willed." Pietor Furan, Aftershock. So, what did he mean by natural? This is the story of Lilia, a girl sent to the Glasshouse and became an unnatural fighter. The rating may change later on.
1. Chapter 1- Changing

**AN: This is the first fic I have done, so criticism is welcomed. I don't own H.I.V.E. If I did, the ninth book would be out. I apologize beforehand for any mistakes; I wrote and uploaded this on my iPad. This is set in the Glasshouse before Raven was sent there.**

"Again!" Pietor barked and the trainees that filled the cavern complied immediately, falling into combat stances. He moved his gaze to his newest recruit- Lilia. He smiled sadistically; he loved fresh meat.

"What was that?" He yelled as he walked predatorily over to her, "I said hit, not tap. Do it again."

Lilia tried to hit the boy she was sparring with, but he deflected all of her clumsy attempts with ease. Her failure resulted with a hard punch to the jaw from the trainer- Furan, he said his name was. It hurt a lot and she had never really been hit much before. And so she made the mistake of crying out in pain. Pietor sighed, _'I guess I'll have to take her to the infermary,' _he thought dejectedly. He hated it when he had to do that; it meant he didn't get to play around with his meat before it got eaten.

After lights out, he went there, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. The infermary, that was. Scattered around the dimly lit werehouse were a lot of hospital beds, surgical equipment, needles, and a few eyeballs which glowed purple. He knew what happened here, but he knew the staff wouldn't dare do their little procedure to him. He carried on to the area dedicated research. This room was covered in papers and computers.

"Hey, you!" He yelled at a random worker.

"Y-yes?" Harold had heard stories of the man addressing him and he was suddenly occupied with the task of not pissing himself.

"Tell the Surgeon a new recruit is going to be brought here first thing tomorrow and I don't want any delays of her... _strengthening_ and I want her brought back the day after. If she is even a second after the deadline, both you and he are going to suffer. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Sir. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

And with that, Pietor left the room and Harold scurried off to find the Surgeon and then to the toilet- it seemed Furan's presence had a lasting effect.

* * *

Lilia awoke screaming, gasping for breath, sweating profusely, heart beating rapidly. She looked at the old clock that claimed the wall furthest from her- 00:02 A.M. Something was going to happen, she instinctively knew it. If anyone asked, she wouldn't be able to give any reason behind her prediction. Besides, they would just assume her thought was triggered by her nightmare. Not that anyone cared enough to ask, with the exception of Tony (her only friend in this place). But she was convinced she was right. If the Glasshouse was hell, she was about to meet the devil and his workers.

Then the alarms sounded. A shrill, ear piercing sound that rattled about in her skull. There was suddenly light, but rather than the typical blinding white, they were red. Red like blood. She doubted that this was all a coincidence. The other trainees (who she had woken) pretended to be asleep. One boy knocked himself unconscious. Lilia, however, didn't know of all the procedures and stories yet, so she made another mistake: she stayed fully upright. When the guards came, they both immediately looked at her and came to an unspoken agreement. _'This is the one who needs fixing. Grab her.'_ They took her sway screaming- that was really becoming a habit with her.

Lilia tried to get a look at the men who held her in a vice like grip. All she saw was black. Black clothes, black skin, black eyes. She tried to lash out at them, but it felt like kicking concrete. They took her out of the dormitory, across the courtyard, and into the dense forest that surrounded the Glasshouse. Noise filled her ears, and she was grateful. Anything other than those sirens were good. Birds tweeting; sticks snapping; snow crunching under thier weights all seemed luxurious. Green, white, brown and black were the only colous for as far as the eye could see. Green leaves, white snow, brown birds and twigs, the black faces of the men and the night sky, broken only by bright white stars. A sudden rush of hope hit her- maybe she was being taken away from this place. Then it stopped.

The trees that had loomed over her were dead and shrivelled. The birds didn't dare come here. The pristiene white snow was now mush. Even the stars were gone. And the men seemed more sinister than a few seconds prior. Their cold, black eyes gleamed with malice and the promise of violence. Before her was a fairly large werehouse. She had never believed in shit like déjà vu or sensing past lives, but she felt it now. That place had witnessed many young lives lost. And it had laughed, longing for more blood immediately after some had been spilt, like a hunger that could never be satisfied. The already freezing temperature seemed to drop by a few degrees. In an attempt to calm herself, she tried to rationalize this feeling. It had been a long time since humans were prey animals- a good hundred thousand years or so. But buried deep in their genes, the memory remains and nothing could ever change that: the awarenees of the gazelle; the instinct of the antelope. And now what was normally an echo in her viens was screaming at Lilia. They took her inside and it increased in volume as alarm bells accompained them. Get out. GET OUT.

"Hello," a man said, "My name is Lenny and I shall be your Surgeon." He chuckled. He had a deep voice. Lilia desperately fought against the steely grip the men had on her arms and legs. For a moment, she managed to sit up enough to see Lenny. He wore fully blue, a face mask, gloves -like an actual surgeon- and a belt filled with syringes, scalpels and other equipment Lilia was unable to identify. His clothes were covered in blood, some old, some fresh. What little of his skin she could see was weather beaten and scarred. His eyes were glowing purple. He grinned evilly. He addressed the men, "The room is prepped. Take her there, restrain her, and then you may return to your bunks."

The men took her into the room. It was dimly lit and a lot of shadows were cast. In the centre was a wide strip of metal that streched from floor to ceiling. Attached to it were tight looking straps of metal, for the wrists, ankles, legs, chest, stomach, and head. One went to unlock them and they swung open with a creek. The other roughly shoved her in them. The restraints were, as predicted, ridiculously tight and cut off her blood supply. Lenny walked in and signalled for the men to leave.

"Lilia, is it?" His voice took on a smug tone- he knew that she knew there was no getting out of this. Whatever 'this' was.

"Yes," her voice came out small, despite her effort to hide any vulnerability from him.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"No."

Lenny smirked and muttered something along the lines of 'I love this' and she felt a coldness sweep over her. Then there was a sharp pain in her head and she saw the most gruesome images she could ever imagine. She saw muscles being ripped out and being replaced with larger, stronger ones. She saw an eyeball being teared out of its socket and an eye like Lenny's being put in. She saw things that were barely human being injected with a fluid that she felt strip them of everything they were, everything they ever could be, everything they ever believed, every memory, every emotion. She saw people like her being turned into mindless killers. She saw them rip apart what were once thier friends. She saw torture. And she saw the failures being burnt alive, still screaming, into ashes. Then she heard voices.

_"No, please, no! Don't! Let me try again- I promise I'll do better!"_

_"What's going on? Shit! I can't see... is anybody there?"_

_"It's George. Listen- please try to remember, we're friends. I don't want to hurt you. Please remember. "_

_"Everything you are, everything you ever were, all you ever hope to be. Forget it-it's over. "_

_"Adrian? Adrian does not exist. Only me. "_

_"If they get you, don't forget yourself."_

She heard the whispered pleas for mercy, the yelled begging, the screaming, and the insane, maniacal laughter. But she didn't feel scared;she didn't feel horror, repulsion or pity. She felt hated for the weak; respect for the one who had bettered it. She felt an eerie calmness.

In an instant it was over. She was Lilia again. She was shaking. Het head was pounding in time to get rapid heartbeat. She couldn't push down the terror that threatened to consume her. It didn't take a genius to work out that what she saw was going to happen to her.

"What the fuck did you do?" She whispered, her voice quivering.

"You wouldn't believe me. "

"Just tell me!" She roared-she didn't want to be toyed with.

"I merely injected you with a drug. It allows me to put things in your head. I just put some memories and parts of security feed in there. It's pathetically easy, really. "

"How did you put someone else's memories in my head?"

"When did I say they were somebody else's?"

"What do you mean?"

"Enough questions. Time to begin. "

Lilia did not remember all of what happened to her physically. But she fell unconscious in a lot of pain with what looked like gallons of blood pooling out around her. When she woke up, she was still in a lot of pain, but she felt a lot stronger than ever before. She tried to open her eyes, but she couldn't. She tried to move, but she couldn't. She heard Lenny.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to give me the pleasure of her company." He laughed as she struggled to reply. It felt like she hadn't used her voice for years.

"Why?" She managed to croak out. Her voice sounded foreign, deeper. Lenny leaned close, so that she could smell his breath against her ear. It smelt of blood. She felt him trace her jaw bone and lift her chin up slightly with a skeletal finger. Then he answered her: "Because it makes me happy."

He took away something that was covering her eyes and he peeled back an eyelid. He smiled; she despised that smile. Then she saw tweezers, coming straight at her.

"What are you doing?"

"You need better vision, my dear. "

He yanked out her eyeball. She howled in agony and passed out again.

"What a pity, " Lenny remarked darkly, "I much prefer it when they're awake. "

A few hours later, Lilia regained consciousness and immediately wished she hadn't. Everything felt as though it was on fire. She looked around. She wasn't in the same place as before. Now she was in a cell. There was a mirror in one corner and she crawled over to it. She looked like hell. Before she had been stick thin, now she had bulging muscles. Before she had no scars, now she was covered in them. Before she had pale skin, now it was literally black. Before she had dark brown hair, now it was stained red with blood. Before she had the brightest green eyes, now they shone purple. She looked out the bars. Standing there, looking triumphant, was Lenny. He held two syringes.

"One is a pain killer, the other is a drug. Choose a hand," he declared as he let himself into her accommodation.

Lilia glared daggers at him. She wanted to rip his throat apart with her bare hands. Lenny chuckled.

"Right. " Lilia responded confidently. Never again would she appear weak. Never again would she _be_ weak. Lenny stabbed her in the wrist with the one he had in his right hand. She had made the wrong choice. It was a drug which seemed to cause hallucinations.

_The rabbit sprinted at full speed through the field. Its breath seemed incredibly loud to its highly sensitive ears. Its pursuer was getting closer. The rabbit could almost feel the teeth of the fox bite harshly into its delicate flesh, ripping it apart without hesitation, without mercy. Then it actually happened. Everything went black._

It was like those wildlife documentaries when it shows the hunt of the animals. Lilia remembered watching them with her mother. She remembered wishing for the prey to escape and the relief when they did; the sadness and slightly sickened feeling when they didn't. It was the same now. Except, this time there was a part of her that wanted the predator to win. That was disappointed with the rabbit's weakness. That relished in the spilt blood, death and destruction. That part was fascinated and loved every second of this. The other longed to look away, but there was no escaping the images.

Some time passed. She had witnessed kill, after kill, after kill. Every time, the strong conquered the weak. Eventually, it changed from animals to humans. From just a small amount of blood to gore. But by then, even if she could've, she had to admit it: she would not look away. Watching the deaths filled her with an unique adrenaline. It also made her think. Her entire life, she had been the hunted, the prey. Even when she was breaking, entering and stealing, she had constantly been looking for escapes. When she had been caught a couple of times, she had dropped the goods and ran, rather than stay and fight. She would perish, and soon, if she kept going on that way.

The images stopped. She was dragged back to reality. Dragged back to the agony that coursed through her viens. Back to weakness. And she suddenly snapped back to being Lilia. And what filled her with more dread than what she had just seen was this: she had forgotten everything that had ever defined her. Even now, it was a distant memory. She was fading. Her time was up.

"Not so clever now are you, girl?" It was Lenny. His voice had taken her by surprise. However if she had been just that little bit stronger, she would have heard his approach. She would never be taken by surprise again. Something inside her broke. Perhaps it was the only human part of her left. Maybe it wasn't and she was just losing her sanity down here, alone, in the dark. Either way, she got up and slammed herself against the bars. Lenny smiled. She had been changed pathetically easily. And now project number 665 was complete. It was time to test her out.

The same men from before approached her cell a couple of hours later. Lilia had spent those hours thinking of the most brutal ways she could kill and torture, with an insane grin stretched across her blackened face. She laughed maniacally every time she thought of something fun. The men opened her cell cautiously. Her gaze snapped to them and her smile widened. If she was lucky-no, that implied weakness;_ 'strong'_ was a better word- she may be able to test her ideas out. She tried, but she couldn't. She was too weak. That had to change. She needed blood, and soon. The men took her back to the Glasshouse.

They led her to a combat pit, where a boy was waiting. He looked scared. Weak. He needed to be eliminated.

"You two shall fight to the death." A man said as he tossed them swords. She remembered that man- Pietor Furan. Then one of her more rational thoughts struck her like a ton of bricks. What use were people like her without someone to control them? If there was no control over them, everyone would be dead, and where's the fun in that? She would allow Furan to wield her like the weapon she was.

She turned to the boy. The fight was over after just a few seconds- he never stood even a minute chance. But it was only after she impaled him that she recognized him. Tony. 'What the fuck did I just do?' That was the last thought Lilia had. After that she was only known as 665. She was a phycopathic killer. And she loved it.

"She's going to be dangerous," Pietor commented.

"You say that every time, and every time you are wrong. No, Pietor, she's going to be wonderful." Anastasia said firmly, but knowing that she was just as likely to be mistaken. And something told her she was.


	2. Chapter 2- Leaving

**AN: Mark Walden signed over the rights of H.I.V.E to me. Then I woke up, without ownership of the series.**

-1/2 A YEAR LATER-

"Report, " Anastasia snapped at the nearest Glasshouse trainer.

"All students are physically performing as required. However, a few of the newer recruits- Paul and Paula Norris continue to defy orders. Do you wish for them to be taken to the punishment rooms?"

"No. You bring them to me."

"Yes, ma'am. May I enquire why?"

"No, you may not. How is 665 functioning?"

"She is showing signs of rebellion but otherwise she is doing well. A bit too well, in fact. She is physically progressing at an alarmingly fast rate, which has made a few concerned. Yesterday, she managed to take out all of the guards that she encountered in her training and today-" Anastasia cut him off abruptly with a slap to his cheek.

"Keep it brief. How many are dead? And what sort of rebellion?" The slight fear in Furan's tone piqued the man's curiosity.

"Thirteen are deceased; seven are severely injured. 665 hesitates to carry out what she is instructed to do and, as well as attacking students, she has started to attack staff."

Anastasia glared daggers at the man before her- Jacob Alerton, "You call that 'rebellion'? That is a mere side effect that'll soon pass." Alerton's eyes widened. He was obviously concerned for his wellbeing, with good reason. One did not worry Furan for nothing and keep their lives.

"Sorry ma-"

"Do not apologize. When you bring students Paul and Paula Norris to my and Pietors' private quarters at nine tonight, you shall be dealt with. Dismissed." Anastasia watched emotionlessly as the young man hurried away. The truth was the results were extremely concerning and caused unease to prickle relentlessly at her skull. 665 was the first of a new batch of genetically altered assassins that were designed to be more powerful than any other. If that girl was to become an enemy, the consequences would be catastrophic. All Anastasia could do was hope the behavior 665 was exhibiting was- as she said- just a side effect. But deep down she knew it wasn't. Ever since Lilia had been eliminated, she had known something was wrong. And soon, they may all pay the price. Anastasia shook her head; it was not over yet. There was still time to break her further before she had to be sent on assignment. But still, something was telling her that it would not work and refused to shut up. She shook her head again slightly and glanced at her watch- 8:30 A.M. She made her way to a combat pit where Pietor was yelling at a bunch of students. 665 stood apart from the group, but watched them intently.

"You are to complete the course within three minutes. The first five to fall and those who exceed that limit shall face the consequences. Line up and begin on my word."

Anastasia observed 665's actions carefully. For a moment she seemed reluctant to obay Pietor. But as quickly as the unwillingness had appeared, it was gone. She narrowed her eyes as 665 slowly, but calmly, made her way to the course. A smug grin found its way onto her face. Anastasia wanted to slap it off and she could tell Pietor wanted to too.

"Go!"

Again, her compliance was delayed. Her performance, however, was outstanding. She climbed over and through the obstacles (that _Pietor_ had designed) like they were nothing. She flipped through the lasers with impossible grace and agility. When they caught her a couple of times, she continued without fault even though any other person would've been in unspeakable agony. Anastasia felt the unease creep back into her stomach like an unwelcome disease. The girl was like a cat- she always landed on her feet and seemed to have nine lives. She compleated the course in under a minuite. Next was sparring. As predicted, her excecution of the task was exceptional. Although, when Pietor gave the command to kill one of her partners, the hesitation returned. The rest of the day went in a similar fashion.

* * *

"What do you propose we do with her?" Pietor asked, devoid of emotion. He was sitting opposite her in their private living quarters.

"With who?" Anastasia enquired distractedly. She glanced at the clock that dominated the wall behind her brother- 2 minuites until Alerton brought the students

"665."

Anastasia paused for a moment. She had been thinking of that for a very long time and her plan was only half formed and carried risks she did not think they were prepared to take. But it was much better than nothing.

"We send her on assignment earlier than what we agreed."

"Have you lost your bloody mind? There is _no way_-" Anastasia held up a hand and Pietor fell into silence.

"A specific assignment. UAUP have been a threat to us since we started the process. Lenny has recently informed me that some may suspect that his death was not exactly genuine. Among those are Patrick and Harrison Blake. The brothers of 665."

"You are aware that seeing her family may trigger unwanted memories, I assume."

"Of course. But that is the intended result. Hopefully, when it happens, she will realize that the only thing she can do is hurt and kill others and that she might as well have someone with power to use her. And those people will be us."

"Or she could turn against us."

There was a knock at the door just as the clock struck nine.

"Enter!" She yelled.

Alerton walked somewhat timidly in, knowing that a harsh punishment will befall him, holding the Norris twins by the scruff of their necks. Pietor moved his discreetly questioning gaze from the door to his sister.

"Take him to the punishment cells. Do what you wish with him, but leave him alive and fit enough to train. I will deal with the students."

Pietor nodded as the guard gulped nervously, looking pained as Pietor grabbed his wrist with enough force to break it and dragged him out indignantly with his face on the ice cold floor. Within a few minuites, Anastasia heared screams and smirked. She held out her hands for the students and for a fraction of a second, she looked like the mother she could've been by then. "Shall we?"

She led the students out of the Glasshouse as they gave it their best shot at escaping her vice- like grip. They soon entered the clearing where the warehouse stood proudly over the surrounding environment, even though the long dead trees were notably taller than it. She shoved them inside as Lenny rounded the corner towords the entrance. He grinned viciously.

"Any specifications?" He checked.

"See if you can use them to improve 665's batch."

"What is wrong with it?"

"Rebellion. The very thing we hired you to put an end to. I hope I don't have to reconsider my decision."

"You will not, ma'am."

"Good. Get to it."

She turned sharply on her heel and left the room, the door slamming shut behind her with a BANG that sounded like it could be heard on the other side of Russia.

"Let us go, you bastard!" Paul screamed at Lenny, thoroughly enraged.

"Strong language for someone so young."

"I'm thirteen!" Paul protested.

Lenny examined him critically, making Paul feel self conscious of his freckled skin and ginger hair.

"Short too, then."

Paul didn't have a reply to that immediately, "I'm not short," he sheepishly countered.

"Blind as well. It seems I have a challenge on my hands, shorty. Guards!"

Four men came out from a door the students hadn't noticed. They were clad fully in black and looked like they could shatter any chosen bone at an inhuman speed.

"Restrain them and take them to the testing area. I will be there shortly."

The men grabbed the students' arms and legs and took them into another room, their strides large, quick and purposeful.

The room was occupied with a few scienists, hustling around the desks that they used for a practical work surface. On some there were jars containing human body parts, flesh and blood. On others there were peculiar pulsing chemicals being put in with what had to be thousands of cockroaches. The unsuspecting insects didn't stand a chance and they were devoured before they could register what was happening. The people who weren't participating in the experiments were theorizing about their newest procedure and why it went wrong in hushed tones. It seemed word got around quickly. There were two leather chairs in the most hideous yellow possible to create. There were straps hanging loose from them that were used to restrict movement. The guards shoved the students in them and stood by, awaiting Lenny's arrival for orders. He came in shaking two oddly shaped syringes that had something resembling a tiny socket on the top containing an opaque red substance in one hand; a computer with two wires attached to seperate connectors dangling off of it in the other.

"Sir," one of the men greeted, voice stilted and polite.

"You are all dismissed, but I may call on you later." The men turned and left as one. Lenny turned to Paul, "I will allow your sister to go first as she did not display such a disrespectful attitude earlier on. But you, my boy, shall have the pleasure of watching."

He stabbed the syringe into Paula's neck and connected a wire from the computer into the top of the syringe and a message popped up on the screen: SUBJECT 665/A CONNECTED. READY TO INSERT FLUID. Lenny realeased about half of the liquid into Paula's bloodstream. She started thrashing around, screaming and foaming at the mouth. She stopped and Paul's heart joined her for an instant in fear for his sister's life. It had always just been the two of them. He doubted he could live without her. Her eyes seemed vacant and her mind somewhere else. There was another message: SUBJECT INCOMPATIBLE. DO YOU WISH TO TERMINATE? Y/N.

"Bloody DNA structures..." Lenny muttered, barely audible, before clicking- much to Paul's relief- the N button. The fluid rushed back into the syringe and Paula returned to those with a conscious mind.

"What was that?" She asked, her voice small and cracking.

"This? Just a little invention of mine," this caused the scientists to scowl at his back, "the part that entered your system can be thought of as a tester and transmitter to see if you are compatible for the procedure. For your information, you are not and should glad I checked; otherwise you would be a lot worse off. It sends a 'signal' to the part that I kept in the syringe- this bit can be thought of as a reciever and reactor- and it reacts to the signal by pulsing in a certain way. That pulse is measured by the computer and it tells me if I can go ahead with the mentioned procedure." He turned to Paul, "and now it's your turn." Much to his disappointment, Paul was also incompatible.

Unheard by Lenny or the seemingly doomed children at first, the scienists' subject had changed. A redhead dressed mostly in green and her acquaintance were being the most vocal by far, which said a lot about Lenny's control over them.

"The little swine. Why does he always think he can take our credit without us getting pissed off?"

Her companion sighed, "because he knows that as long as he holds those closest to us, he holds all the cards."

"Why must you always be a pessimist, Steve?"

"It's not pessimism, Sash, it's realizm."

"Don't ever call me Sash. Anyways, what if we just go? It's not like we can die again."

"He has our families, Sasha."

"Oh yeah... That really screws things up."

"You idiot."

"I'm not the idiot," she gestured at Lenny, "he's the idiot. Anyone could just kill him as he sleeps. Like taking wool from a baby."

"Candy."

"Steve, you are not a kid. You don't need candy 24/7. You don't even like candy."

"First of all, I was corecting you: it's candy from a baby, not wool. And I like candy, just not to the point when I have nightmares about candyfloss chasing me down the street, naked because I had just had a shower in jelly."

"That's all that happened?"

"Yeah..." Steve drew out the word, like he was scared it was the wrong answer.

"You woke up screaming and tearing me a bloody new one."

Steve went bright red, "shit," he muttered.

"And ever since then you were too horrified at the thought of sweets to even be in the same room as them."

"So we kill him and then...?"

"Shut up," Sasha whispered urgently.

"What?"

"He's listening."

Lenny walked over to them, radiating with fury that had once caused his personal assistant to back up, shaking, into a sub zero, polluted river. Needless to say, he was no longer around. "So, it seems you want your brothers, sisters, mothers and lovers to die as well as yourselves. How selfish. Guards!"

The guards were still only dressed in black, but this time they had rifles held up to their shoulders, ready to shoot. They walked in with an infuriating indifference but were evidently waiting for the smallest excuse to put a bullet in someone's head.

"Take the four of them into the disposal area and kill the hostages for workers," he paused to look at their badges, "Lucy Resnok and Luke Zarieth."

Lenny took out four syringes from a holder on Steve's desk, oblivious to the fact that Steve had added something extra to them while he was giving the guards orders. At the same time, Sasha had exchanged their badges for fakes they kept in her draw- Lenny had never actually checked the names of his staff. The workers had similar abilities as they were both Undead. Their actions weren't seen, even by the Unnatural guards. Lenny stabbed the syringes, containing a mild sedative and the solution that killed the body only to make it temporarily immortal, into their veins.

The disposal area was a grey room of minimal size with thick, steel walls. The scientists already knew what was going to happen and sat in a condemned silence. Meanwhile, the students were quietly debating how they would be disposed of. Without the most inperceptible warning, flames shot up from the centre of the room. Then in the corners. Smoke engulfed them, but they could see. They were getting badly burnt, but their wounds healed almost immediately. It felt as though they had a million hearts beating throughout their bodies. Scalding heat seared through every millimetre of their beings. They knew they would be hurting for weeks. But they were still alive and the suffering reminded them of that. Steve grabbed the student's wrists and pulled them into the corner furthest from the huge steel door. Sasha took a bomb out of her pocket and placed it by said door. Sirens wailed as it was blown to smithereens.

"Childs play," she bragged as she rushed out. Cold air greeted her and she welcomed it like an old friend. Steve went to follow her but the students refused to budge. He turned to them.

"C'mon. We're leaving." His tone held no force, but that was all it took to convince the students to go with them. He had said, murmered, screamed that sentence so many damn times. On all occasions he had failed. Each time, somebody had to pay. But this time he was certain: they truly were leaving. And he would not let anything get in his way this time.


	3. Chapter 3- Operating

**AN: I don't own H.I.V.E because the last time I looked in the mirror, I was not Mark Walden or Dr Nero. Then again, that was about a month ago... Do I have to do a disclaimer for every chapter?**

Pietor believed the Tudors had got some aspects of life right- they had some interesting torture methods and the nerve to discipline people. These days, the worst punishment was jail or (in some countries) execution. How does that do anything to prevent riots ruling the streets; sons turning against fathers; and, one of the worst offences in his mind, acts of purjury? He despised liars with every atom of his person. Especially those who said _everything will be OK._ They weren't just liars. They were complete fools who practically invite depression and failure over for tea with their little statements of reassurance. There was only one thing worse than them. Those who swore loyalty, knowing from the start they would break it. He knew their name: traitors, but to him they were little more than diseases. And what did they get in the 20th century? A middle finger, a slap across the face, a quick death. Back then, what did they get? Skeffington's Irons, the Rack, the Press, Thumbscrews, the Boot or death. He had adopted those methods for the Glasshouse- a substitute for History but unfortunately he couldn't use any of them for Alerton. Not today. But he wasn't going to restrict himself to common, boring techniques all throughout either. Though he had to admit, with no small amount of reluctance, that some methods these days were alright. The electric chair was certainly fun. Another issue with modern penalties was that- although they did have something usable- they didn't know who to hurt and were too much of cowardly imbeciles to punish the suspects. He, on the other hand, stood by eagerly for the next opportunity to arise, always ready to strike. However, he was aware that his imperceptible fury had to wait to be satisfied due to a frustrating lack of evidence- evidence being adding too much information into simple answers, stammering, whispered conversations in the flimsy cover of darkness. And the bound, shirtless man before him had shown all of the mentioned painfully obvious signs. Silly boy. Oh well, more fun for him.

"I am a cruel man and nothing will ever change that," he told Alerton, "but I can be perfectly capable of reason when I want to be. I will give you three chances to own up to whatever you did. Should you deny it thrice, may the Lord have mercy on your soul. Do you believe in a God?"

"No, sir," he replied, curious about what that had to do with anything. Too late, he realized it was part of a basic stratagem to give Furan a reason to make him suffer more than he had to.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" Furan yelled, hitting the side of his head viciously. He shook it, partly to answer his question; mostly to get rid of the black squares swimming in his vision. Passing out would do him much more harm than good.

"Answer me!" He snapped.

"No, sir."

"What did I just say? Why do you have functioning ears it you never use them?"

The conversation was all trickery, an excuse for harming him Alerton more than he deserved. He walked over to an area where whips were kept, conscious of the fact that he had all the time in the world. He grabbed the largest one and a gag that he knew was going to be useless. Walked back, just as calmly. It was at times like this he loved his job.

He aggressively shoved the gag in Alerton's mouth and hit him with the whip harsly, resulting in him bleeding profusely but- as per his sister's instructions- he made sure no lasting damage was done. He screamed as Pietor allowed himself a short, crazed laugh. He never laughed anymore- not genuinely and it was faked even now. Its purpose was to cause fear to surround the man with its icy hands. He started to squirm. Pietor hit him again. And again. And again. Thirty more times and they had both lost count. By this point, the gag had fallen out and Alerton was sobbing, screaming and pleading; a futile attempt to make him see reason. But that was now a lost cause. For, at that point in time, he was craving the spilt blood like an addict would cocaine. After all, if his sister's life had to depend so greatly on others, why shouldn't Alerton's. Or his? Pietor watched coldly as the man's crimson blood mixed with his sweat, knowing it would be stinging like Hell, the knowledge giving him a sickening glee. And this was just the warm up. He knew he should be paying attention to the things. The way his fingers curled with each strike, the way his eyes darted around the room helplessly. At the end of the day, this was like a plane jouney to him. He knew where he would begin and where he would end up. There was nothing but minor turbulence to interfere; nothing to see; nobody to witness the events unfolding in the chamber. Another comparison was that this made him happy, something that- in his mind- a person could only experience when high or intoxicated. And planes could fly very high indeed. Before either of them knew it, Alerton had fallen into a merciful oblivion.

"I didn't even get to ask him once."

He left the room, knowing there would be no more entertainment that night but it was alright with him. Maybe it was his old age or something else entirely, but he just wanted his bed which was a possesion he hadn't wanted since he was six. Maybe he truly was getting old, he mused. His phone rang.

"Anastasia, " he greeted.

"Come to my office, please."

"Oh no," he muttered sarcastically, "have I been a bad boy? Do I need a slapped bottom?"

"I have an errand for you after I give 665 her-"

"You have lost your mind, haven't you?"

"Just come over here," and with that she hung up.

* * *

Anastasia sat at her desk, her drumming fingers the only sign of her mild impatience. They were the only thing that broke the dense silence apart from the soft, constant ticking of the clock as the hands gradually edged towords 10 P.M. and the small beep of the phone as she hung up on Pietor. She had summoned 665 approximately five minuites ago to give her her assignment and with each passing second she was doubting her decision. This was a rare occasion and so she was not sure how to eradicate the uncomfortable prick of uncertainty from her mind. What if Pietor was right and she did turn against them? What then? A knock at the door shattered her thoughts as easily as a sword slicing through butter.

"Madam Furan," 665 adressed her, her face and tone betraying no emotion.

"Let's not beat around the bush. I have called you here to send you on a mission."

"Who is the target?"

"There is an organization- UAUP or the Unity Against Unnatural Persons- which has been a thorn in our sides for much too long. I do not ask you to take out the entire enterprise. Just a couple of people working for an undercover branch somewhere in the outskirts of London. It is your task to locate and eliminate the targets as soon as possible."

"Who are the targets?" She repeated.

"Patrick and Harrison Blake," Anastasia replied, to conscious of the risks that saying those names could be for her liking. Fortunately for her, 665 didn't seem to recognize them.

"When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow. I shall give you the targets' files', weapons and mask then. You are dismissed."

665 left the office and Anastasia let out a breath she didn't realize she had somehow been holding. So far, so good. She heard a small cough which caused her to look up as she reached for her gun instinctively.

"Hey," her brother said in mock hurt, "why do you want to kill me all of a sudden?"

"It was sudden?"

"Why am I here?"

"Because I need you to have a... _word_... with agent Jay."

"What's he done?"

"I have a suspicion he is the one who told UAUP that Lenny is alive."

* * *

The building seemed deserted but 665 knew all too well that appearances could be deceptive. Like her, for example. She had a mask to conceal her unnatural apperance and it looked strangely familiar. From where, she had no clue but... _Focus_, she scolded herself. She had been discreetly watching the building from a bench in a park for a couple of hours. It looked like a typical household: it had three storeys including an attic, a garage and a Ford Fiesta parked outside. She reckoned it would have a few underground floors as she had been informed that it contained at least a dozen labatories. All of the lights were off, the curtains were drawn and no one had left or entered the building while she had been observing it. Unless...

It would make no sense if hundreds of people turned up at that particular house and rang the doorbell every day. That would serve just one purpose- to cause suspicion. And so they must have had a different entrance. She felt like kicking herself. How could she be so stupid for so long? The next question was where it would be. UAUP's base was surrounded by a main road, the park and more housing so it couldn't be in the immediate area. But it didn't need to be close to the base at all, meaning her search area had expanded quite drastically. But there were very few places where a ton of people could show up (either together or staggered, it didn't matter) and remain invisible. She mentally listed the places in the somewhat local area where this could happen. There was a showground, a school and a train station. Thinking the latter was her best bet, she set off at a brisk pace in its general direction.

In a train station, there are always one or two doors that remain firmly shut and locked. Nobody knows what is behind these doors and why they are supposedly never opened while the public can see the room they guarded. Not that many people pay attention to these mysterious doors- they are always in a rush to get out of the building or hurrying to get their trains. So they fail to notice the people who managed to slip through them, without whatever it concealed being displayed to the rest of the world, on a daily basis. Through a specific door, there was a passageway constructed of smooth, plain stone with dim lights every few metres which extended for a mile before coming to a halt so abrupt that if you didn't know it was there, your nose would hate you forever. For, at that point, you were directly beneath level -6 in house number 4. 665 was rapidly approaching that point and showed no signs of stopping until she did as suddenly as the 'slab of evil' -as she knew some employees called it- came into her vision. She had been walking for what felt like ages down this cold, empty pathway, beginning to wander if she was wasting more valuable time.

"Freeze!" She had, of course, been instantly aware of the man the moment she came to the end of the tunnel where he was stationed. Obviously, they would have security of some form or other. But she had anticipated more of a challenge- lasers, guns and trapdoors at least. Not the shaking, timid man in front of her.

"You do not know what you are dealing with," she said, her tone bored.

"Neither do you."

"Enough talk," she replied, barely suppressing a snort. She body slammed the man into the wall quicker than he could sense. He never stood a chance. She took the keys off of his belt and promptly dropped them on the floor. The tiny clash it made echoed ominously.

"Too easy..."

As if on cue, sirens started to wail and lasers shot out of the wall. If she had reacted a split second later, her head would've been fried. The ground collapsed beneath her as men with grenades, guns and an unidentifiable net burst into the narrow space. One guard twitched his hand slightly before deciding against whatever he was going to do.

"Drop any weapons and put your hands on your head!" He yelled. He seemed hauntingly familiar...

"Now!" Another man snapped, interupting her memory recall process. He dropped the net into the ditch on top of her. The parts that touched her bare skin realeased what felt like an extreamly high voltage which rattled about in her veins, despite her being made to resist pain.

"What... the fuck... is this... thing?" She gasped through deep breaths.

"This?" The first man answered, holding what she assumed was its on/off switch, "well, that's for us to know and for you to question. But I will tell you that what you feel is only detectable to freaks like you. You are at our mercy."

"If I go down, I won't go down without a fight."

"We already know that."

There was a faint pop and a piercing sting in her neck just as she was going to reply. The last thing she heard before she was taken under the sedative's effect was a short, involuntary gasp of her name. Her real name.

* * *

"Do you think it will be enough?"

"Probably."

Harrison raised an eyebrow with scepticism and repeated, "probably?"

"Yes. Certainly. Of course. Yes," Patrick corrected.

"It better be because we have no idea when they will know that we know. It could be a year, a month, never or it could be right now."

"We're lucky we're not in some Hollywood movie or some shit like that. "

"Eh?"

Patrick rolled his eyes, "because if we were, the second you said that, there would have been a major emergency."

"I don't get it."

"You never do."

"You sure that's enough power for the Net to work?"

"Oh, for God's sake! Yes, I am bloody sure!"

"Just checking, " Harrison said innocently, raising his hands.

Sirens sounded excruciatingly loudly, cutting off whatever reply Patrick had. They and everyone else who filled laboratory 3B started shutting down computers and cramming work into storage cupboards with practiced speed and efficiency. About a third of the scienists (Patrick included) grabbed rifles from a shelf and took up strategic offensive positions for the rare occasion that any infiltraters managed to bypass the the advanced, high- tech locks and security systems. The rest siezed hold of semi automatics and left the room single file at a well diciplined pace.

They marched into an area where they would be issued orders by a security general. The corridor had a widening in the middle which resembled a round- a- bout, where General Abara stood on a raised section, barking out instructions to the people who were swiftly filling the space.

"And those coming from 3B, you go down to the entrance," he commanded them after a little while.

Thankfully, it was a short distance from where they were to the entrance; the more unfortunate units had to run for miles down the long, twisted corridors.

When they arived at their destination, barely a minuite later, the situation seemed to be in control. Alec had ben knocked out but he was used only as a distraction. There was one girl, standing alone and umarmed in the middle of the ditch caused by the large trapdoor opening. He was about to radio control, to inform them that this was a misunderstanding when he saw the child had a crack down her face, possibly from the fall. It was a mask. She wasn't an innocent victim after all. And now that Harrison actually looked at her, he realized she wasn't a stranger either.

"Drop any weapons and put your hands on your head!" He yelled, sister or not, he was taking no chances.

When she didn't comply immediately another man added, "now!"

The same man dropped the Net he and Patrick had been working on and he felt nauseating guilt as he saw the agonized expression on Lilia's face.

"What... the fuck... is this... thing?" She hissed out, breathing heavily.

She deserved an answer but he couldn't break protocol so he held up the Net's power switch. "This? Well, that's for us to know and for you to question," he hoped the phrase he had always used with her growing up would help her remember him. "But I will tell you that what you feel is only detectable to freaks like you."

Freaks. That's what everyone in UAUP called them but he now hated the way the word casually rolled off his tongue. The Lilia he knew and couldn't help but still see was no freak. She had just been changed by those bastards.

"If I go down, I won't go down without a fight. "

He fought the overwhelming urge to smile; it seemed she hadn't completely changed. He simply replied, "we already know that."

She opened her mouth to say something- possibly question the source of his knowledge, but another man shot her before any words could form.

"Lilia..."

* * *

"What's up?" Patrick asked once Harrison returned to 3B. The confused, slightly betrayed but livid expression he wore was not one he had seen before.

"Our sister."

"What about her?" Patrick wasn't sure if he should be worried or overjoyed. Their sister had been missing for years and assumed dead. They had not heard anything since.

"She's one of them."

"One of the-"

"Yes, one of them."

"Well, shit. What happened? When did she-"

"I don't know, alright?" Harrison slammed his fist on the table, creating a dent. He sighed, "I need a drink."

"Not on the job, Blake," General Abara said sternly as he walked into the room, enmitting his typical aura of authority. "I understand you were the leader of the unit sent to the freak."

"Yes, sir."

"The Superior Commander wishes to speak with you."

"May I ask why, sir?"

"Scienists and their questions, honestly," as normal, it was impossible to tell if he was joking, "you are certainly welcome to ask, but I'm afraid it's above my pay grade."

"Which communication rooms are free, sir?"

"C-5A. I suggest you do not keep the Superior Commander waiting."

"Of course, sir," he turned to his brother, "I will elaborate later."

"Damn right, you will," he started but Harrison had already left the lab.

* * *

"You wished to speak with me, sir."

"Ah, yes," the Superior Commander had his voice altered in real time so it held no trace of emotion or accent. His image was replaced with red on Harrison's screen as it would be on any potential hackers'. "You and your brother are in grave danger."

"Why are you warning us, sir? With all due respect, you have never done that for anyone else, sir."

"Because you are a dead man walking. Because of the stuff in your head. Because I'm your uncle, for Christ's sake. On a less personal note, I need you, for the sake of this organization, to hand over all information to a trusted colleague. We don't want the details of phase seven lost or becoming known to hostile agents, do we?"

"How much time do I have left, sir?"

"How fast can you run?"

A message flashed across the screen as the red faded: CONNECTION DISCONTINUED.


	4. Chapter 4- Remembering

**AN: I apologize for the spelling errors; I am doing my best to correct them but it will be a gradual process. It's good this is a pretty dead fandom, eh? (Grabs a defibrillator. Fails to resurrect the fandom. Sobs... RIP). I don't own H.I.V.E.'s corpse.**

665 regained her consciousness but made sure her eyes remained firmly shut and her breathing even. Her head pounded furiously in time to her heartbeat. Her mouth felt drier than the Sahara and there seemed to be opera singers in immediate vicinity. It took her longer than it should have to recognize that there were no singers; it was merely the ringing in her ears. In her defence, there wasn't much difference between the two to begin with. She was lying on something soft and cool air met her face as she was without her mask which tempted her to go back to sleep. An idiot's hand touched her shoulder, which almost made her jump in surprise. That should have been next to impossible for the sneakiest of people. She realized with a flicker of panic that she was displaying human feebleness and that was- without question- impossible. She refused to think of it and instead concentrated on the muffled voices that were slowly becoming more and more apparent.

"Perhaps some more vigorous questioning will be more efficient."

"That's against protocol and you know it," this voice was closer than the first- perhaps it was the idiot touching her.

"Protocols, protocols, protocols. You really do like kissing your uncle's arse, don't you?"

"For the last time, we did not get the job because our uncle happens to be Hendrick." A third person joined the discussion.

"Fine. We shall do it your way, but don't say I didn't tell you it's a waste of time. Call me when you run out of patience."

There were heavy footsteps heading away from her. A door slammed shut. She was safe for now. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes.

"Welcome to the land of the living, Lilia." It was the idiot who spoke.

She blinked against the sudden artificial light. The room had barely enough space for the three people occupying it, but that may have been because of the grand piano parked in the middle and the bed she was currently in. Its walls and floors were all made of yellowish- green concrete with exception of the bright purple mat placed by the bed. There would be no getting out through secret tunnels like in the movies. Not that she'd expected one.

"You really need to hire a decorator," she commented.

"We did. We just made the grave mistake of letting our brother do it."

"Our?"

"Yes, our. Don't you remember me or Harry?"

"I thought UAUP hired intelligent people. Not nutters."

"That's a 'no.'" The man standing by the door said unhelpfully.

Now that the light had no affect on her, she examined the men, checking for weapons. The one closest to her wore jeans and a loose grey hoodie, which concealed a belt holding throwing knives. The one by the door had a tight fitting neon yellow shirt with green fake denim trousers. Presumably that was Harry; not many people could have such a bad sense of fashion. He had a pistol. And coincidently, they were also her targets. She sat up and was hit by a major wave of dizziness.

"Yeah, definitely more than enough power for the Net, Patrick. The fuss was pointless," Harry commented unnecessarily. Why were these guys just throwing out names? 665 wondered.

"Hey, you were the one fussing. Not me."

"Don't try to rewrite history. You know what you did."

Patrick sighed, "can we just focus on our sister?"

"He surrenders," Harry turned to 665, "don't get too bold. We don't need you passing out again."

"So..." Patrick started. He sounded slightly hurt, "You don't remember us. Like, at all?"

"Should I?" 665 asked icily. These pleasantries were getting suspicious and, hence, annoying. Her words caused both of the men to look down.

"We should get Chris in here after all," Harry murmured. Patrick recoiled in shock.

"What?" He exclaimed, "You want Chris to get his hands on Lilia? Are you mad? He'll start beating her within an inch of her life! He'd kill her if it wouldn't get him fired!"

"He'll get fired if he doesn't try a civilized interrogation first, and we are in no state to do even that. Besides, after what happened with Anna, I doubt he would try anything."

"Or you could just play that damned piano to mess with her poor ears like you did to me." Patrick suggested before telling 665, "y'know I didn't even deserve it. All I did was make a teensy innuendo joke to Anna. It just proves how protective Harry is as a boyfriend."

"I'd shut it, if I were you. As long as I leave you able to function, I will not get any form of punishment for beating you up." Harry's cheeks had adopted a dark red.

"Fine."

The two left the room in unison. That had been a very interesting exchange. Apparently, those fools thought she was their sister, made this Net thing and had just left her unguarded. Then again, she felt too weak to do much and the chain on her ankle didn't help. She sighed but resigned herself to the fact she was not going anywhere soon, and so she may as well use this time wisely. She went over the conversation in her head. That Net had to be what was dropped on her in that ditch. And so, logically, she should be thinking about that as it had the most effect and was the greatest unknown. But she found her mind wondering to the first words directed at her. Welcome to the land of the living, Lilia. She remembered that phrase... But from where? And her mask...

"You were out for longer than anticipated," the voice that dragged her to the present was much harsher than the Blake's, "it was very time consuming and boring waiting for you to wake up, so refrain from zoning out again and speaking. Luckily for you, I cannot go straight in with torture, so you have a chance to save yourself pain. I think." 665 could hear his disappointment.

"What do you mean 'you think'?"

"What did I say about talking?" The man- Chris, she figured- bellowed. There was a pause, "I don't know if it hurts. But torture will definitely be agony."

He leaned over and grabbed something unseen from the wall behind her head. The Net. She must have let something on her face show because he grinned.

"Scared of this, pet?"

"Pet?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he muttered, grabbing masking tape and cuffs from his belt. He restrained her hands and put tape over her lips. He continued, "it's nothing, really. It just stops you being a freak when it is within range. You get reduced to us mere humans. Disgusting, isn't it? I'm fairly sure you know what the Neurobiological Interference Drug (NID) is. It allows me to extract memories and make my victim relive them."

665's eyes widened. She had found herself curious about her past since this operation had begun. She didn't know what to expect and she didn't sure if she wanted to know of her history. Sometimes the truth was best kept hidden. The NID was injected into her bloodstream and it made her feel ten times colder. Half her mind felt numb and the other half too alert, which she knew was nonsensical. Minds couldn't be felt; they were abstract.

"This is a test," Chris whispered into her ear, "what are your parent's names?"

Nothing came. How could it when she didn't know?

"Interesting... How about Patrick and Harrison Blake?"

Out of focus memories came an went as sudden and fast as lightning bolts. Her getting her assignment. The earlier conversation. She relived in seconds anything that contained those people. But it was enough to break Lenny's mental barrier he created when she was changed. Some recollections were a lot clearer than others and with the overwhelming speed she only made out the first two before giving up.

_"Guess what I got you?" Patrick asked three year old Lilia as he entered her room._

_"Hey," she scolded, "no boys are allowed."_

_"Oh, okay then. I guess you don't want this gigantic, delicious chocolate, then."_

_After chasing him to the living room, Lilia tackled her brother to the ground. Or, more accurately, she held onto his legs and he pretended to fall over._

_"Why are you so mean?" She asked as her tiny fingers failed to prise the chocolate bar from his hand._

_"Technically, I am being very, very nice. After all, I wouldn't want my darling little sister to get diabetes."_

_"Di... dia...diabeets?" She struggled to pronounce this strange, foreign word. _

_"Di- a- bee- tes," Harrison helped from across the room, half of his face covered in chocolate._

_"What is it?"_

_"It's when you've eaten so much sugar, you are not allowed to eat any more."_

_Lilia gasped, horrified. _

_"You have it!" She exclaimed, getting off of Patrick and sprinting out of the room._

_"So, they have better defences, offences, skills and practise. What does this tell you?" Harrison asked Patrick as five year old Lilia watched from the door._

_"Uh... I'm screwed and am about to lose this bet?"_

_"No," she said, "that attitude is exactly how you lose. Try again."_

_"I'm going to kick your sorry behind, Harry."_

_"Good. And whilst you were arguing, the game finished."_

_"What?" Both brothers shrieked. Sure enough, when they looked at the TV screen, the football was over and an American reality TV program was on. _

_"Lilia..."_

_"Nope, not telling. Guess who's got the money as well."_

_They looked to the table. The money was gone. But also missing was-_

_"Fluffball!" Patrick screamed._

_"The dog took it," Lilia informed them._

_This was going to be a long night, as (despite being nearly fifteen) Patrick's pink stuffed rabbit was his most prized possession._

_About three hours later, Fluffball was found ripped to shreds. And it was only then Patrick realized they didn't have a dog, much to his siblings' amusement._

She didn't believe it for an instant. She would've known immediately if the Blake's truly were her brothers. That was not the kind of thing she would forget, even after going through the process that had turned her into this thing that was her now. Especially if they were as close as the blurred 'memories' made them out to be. This was all just a sick, fucked up joke and she was not going to fall for it. She wouldn't let herself write a cheque life wouldn't allow her to cash.

"UAUP," Chris whispered into her ear, poking for a more relevant memory once he was satisfied the NID was functioning properly.

The whirlwind of images were a lot shorter this time. Just her getting her assignment, terrorising people to give her information on the organisation, the tunnel and this.

"You are not as dangerous as people make you out to be, are you? At least, not when this is here," Chris taunted while holding up the Net. "This just proves that you have got to work to get to the top, as I did. Not get some steroids to do the work for you. In most cases, I would kill you right now. I would be forgiven, in time. But it seems we have a common interest."

"What could I possibly have in common with you?"

"A target. Or, to be exact, targets. I will let you go if you kill the Blakes."

"How do I know if I only have your word that you will stick to your side of the deal?"

"You don't."

"Switch off the Net."

"Once you're out of the room."

Lilia snorted, "coward."

"I am not, you arrogant prick."

"Yeah, right."

"Fine."

"Anything to heal your ego."

Chris made a low, growling noise but kept his promise, "don't make me regret this."

665 would've known if the Net had been turned off even if she didn't see Chris flip the switch. She felt power surge through her body and her thoughts and sight were a lot clearer. As Chris released her ankle (even though she was perfectly capable of it now), she debated keeping him alive. She decided against it; never let anyone live if they've seen your face. It was one of the first things she learnt at the Glasshouse.

She tapped his shoulder and he whipped around to face her. He was met with a punch to his face. He raised his fists in a fruitless attempt to defend himself. He countered the first few of her well practised, swift blows but quickly grew tired. She smirked- he was such an easy target. She knocked him to the floor with a fluid movement.

"How's your ego now?" She asked as she reached down to crush his windpipe. He made a desperate, choked noise before going completely limp; dead.

As she was assessing her situation and possible ways out of the room, the door opened. She hadn't counted on that happening, but she didn't mind. It made her life easier. There were the two people that were in her cell earlier and another man. He was unarmed and relaxed but buissness- like. An execution party? Well, they would have to do better than that.

She knelt down by Chris.

"Freeze!" Harrison yelled.

She took a gun out of his pocket, unseen by the other men. She briefly wondered why he hadn't used it on her.

"You have five seconds to freeze or we will shoot you!"

Five seconds was all she needed. She spent a split second checking the ammunition- six bullets. She revealed the gun to them before shooting both Patrick and Harrison in the chest. They fell, dead before they hit the floor. She turned to the other man.

"Put down your weapon," he ordered softly.

"Sure," she agreed, "only after I kill you. Head or heart, your choice. But either way, I have the control."

"Do you really think we only have one switch for the Net?"

She felt her energy drain as he turned it back on. She reached for the switch Chris had to find it gone. She looked at the man questioningly.

"Look who has control now."

For some reason she couldn't fathom, she felt herself beginning to loose consciousness. But she didn't really mind; she had done what she needed to do.

_She was lying in a hospital bed, gradually waking up after an operation to remove her tonsils. Her throat felt dry from breathing in the gas used to knock her out. She moaned softly._

_"Welcome to the land of the living, Lilia." Patrick said, handing her a glass of water. She practically inhaled it._

_"Careful," Harrison told her, "drink or eat too fast and you'll be sick."_

_"But my throat..." She complained._

_"Look on the bright side," Patrick said, "ice cream for dinner."_

_"Really?" She checked, an expression of pure delight in her face._

_"Really," he confirmed._


	5. Chapter 5- Learning

**AN: Sorry for the late update. Exams have recently been stalking me. Scary *shudders.***

665 wished she had picked up some newspapers when she was tracking down her targets. For, then, she may have seen what must have been the headlines: Knockout Any "Innocent" Teens Day. It had happened twice in the same amount of hours and she was getting rather annoyed with it. Or, more accurately, the pounding headache it gave her. Judging by the stubborn taste lingering in her mouth, she suspected that she had been rendered unconscious by carbon monoxide. Didn't these idiots know that it was a pollutant? At the end of the day, it would be anti- climatic if everyone dropped dead as a result of poor air. But, hopefully, there would be no messing about this time and she could make her escape. She opened her eyes, not caring about anyone who may have been there, noting the iron chains she was securely and uncomfortably in. Finally, one of these morons had more than one brain cell.

"Those men were amateurs," a disembodied voice said from the shadows, "a distraction, if you will. They needed to be eliminated, regardless of events. My name is Hendrick, by the way. I don't suppose your mother has ever spoken of me."

"A distraction?" Her mission had had complications, so intelligence might save her from impending doom, also known as the Furans. Key word: might. "From what?"

"Now, that would be telling."

"You've wasted enough time. Either tell me or don't; I find myself quickly getting bored with your games. And when I'm bored, people have a queer tendency to die."

"Very well."

665 sighed. "You're not that great at giving people answers at a decent pace, has anyone ever told you that?"

This caused a reaction in the man; a humourless chuckle. "Such impatience. Just like your father."

"And you would know my parents how? You have mentioned them twice now."

"I do believe that you were the one who wanted to stop fooling around. So, I shall humour you- after all, you won't live to tell the tale. I will only say this once, so pay close attention."

665 got the feeling that he didn't get to tell his grand schemes many times and relished in the times he could. Stereotypical villain, really. Surprisingly, he stepped out of the safe refuge of the darkness and into her field of vision. This was the man present when she shot her bro- _targets,_ she sternly corrected herself. This was no time to get emotional. _Bloody Net._

"It is said there was a man with a strange fascination with the art of cloning. He was dismissed by many as a lunatic who was too scared to show his identity. Perhaps it was for the best he was anonymous; it wouldn't look too good for a major science research facility to be working for an obsessed, mad man. But they did, which turned out to be a grievous error. The scientists in charge of those particular experiments- a family called the Durgans or Furans, I think- got involved in some sort of freak accident and that's when you little maggots were first created. The youngest sister, Elena, paid the most. It was a shame. Elena was- and still is- such a great woman. Pretty, funny, caring... And generally good enough to be my girlfriend for over a week. But such personal matters are irrelevant, for they do not change the facts. You little brats are mindless killing machines. And for every person you kill, even indirectly, many more have to hurt because of you. Have you never stopped to think? Stopped to feel empathy? Oh, wait, hang on. You can't."

"We aren't the only assassins in the world, y'know," 665 wisely pointed out. She wanted to add a comment about it not being their fault, but that could make Hendrick stop talking. A voice unexpectedly echoed in her head:

_Adrian? Adrian does not exist. Only me._

"But they are human."

"If you prick us, do we not bleed?" She countered, quoting Shakespeare's _Merchant of Venice._

"Shhh," he hissed. "I had to leave her, you know. Elena. Because who could really stand to be in a relationship with someone who could drop dead at any moment without warning? But that's not the hard part. She fired me from the business that we founded together. I had no job, no house, no food other than what I shared with the dogs. She is now with my best friend. You things ruined my life. As you did to many others."

"I thought such personal matters were irrelevant. And you still haven't answered me."

"Do not speak."

"Alright, alright," she replied, not meaning it in the slightest.

"A few years later, your mother- my sister- died due to some complication when she had you that the doctors didn't pick up... I don't remember the specifics. Eventually those affected came together and the Unity was formed to bring your miserable lives to an agonizing end. It has been this way for years. Until now."

"So, what, have you given up now?"

The man made a noise that could only be described as a growl. "Have you got a death wish, kid?"

"No."

"That's a shame; it's fun when I strike a nerve. But don't you worry, for you will soon know all about it."

"I'm so scared."

"You better be."

For a fleeting moment, there was a look in his eyes that told her her life will become a living hell if he got his way. And, reluctant as she was to admit it, it made her blood freeze. He was almost as bad as Pietor Furan.

"As I was saying, the organisation has stuck to its merciful ways for as long as it has existed. That is going to change once we have more information. And information, my girl, is exactly what you are going to give us. Voluntarily or not."

A siren wailed, a horrible shrieking sound that made her nervous system feel as though it had been picked up and rattled around. She heard a low-pitched growl emerging from Hendrick's mouth again. She briefly wondered if he was a werewolf.

A voice stuttered though a communication system they had placed throughout the building, "corridor

45... Intruder... 7 guards dead."

He swore and glanced at her, realizing she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Then, with no small amount of reluctance, he left the room. The sound of the imposing steel door slamming shut was excruciatingly loud to her sensitive ears.

The Net was powered on. Her very emotions told her that. Ignoring the irregular, fast beating of her heart, she assessed the situation further. She was about to lift her head up to get a better view of the room but snapped it back down. A good thing she did, or she would've been rudely interrupted by a laser beam firing where she would have put her head. Net or no Net, she had her instincts and that she was eternally grateful for.

She knew he'd be back soon. As she noted before, he had a brain. And anyone with a brain would not underestimate her.

Suddenly, a voice hissed out through unseen speakers.

"I'm not stupid." It was Hendrick. Lucky her. "The second I'm close enough you will kill me, even with your power so reduced. It's why security such as that laser exists. I'm not scared to admit I am physically inferior and that I don't want to die. It's why I am so interested in the art of cloning and continuing the work that man started. Sure, it is laughed upon now, but in the future I will be famous. And if I don't succeed in this lifetime, my works will be found by someone who shares my vision just like I found the so called lunatic's."

665 held back a laugh. "So, all this because of your thanatophobia?"

"Just like your father."

"You have said."

There was no response to that. Good- it allowed her more time to think about the next step. With the Net on, she could not break out of the chains. With the Net on, she couldn't think straight. Step one: turn the damn thing off. With the limited information she had on the thing, her ability to do so came down to disconnecting the power or destroying the whole thing. She also knew that it didn't have to touch her to be effective, although she had to be in a certain range. If it touched her when it was on, it burnt. She would've described the pain as 'searing' before she was changed. The thought of before brought unbidden tears to her eyes. As childish as it sounded, she wanted her mother. She had to dismantle it now.

As she was pondering on how to best break the thing- she was partial to ripping it apart with anything she could acquire- and reminding herself her mother was gone and could never return, fate decided to assist her. For the lights went out. Then the Net faltered. She could get out of there. 665 wasted no time. She strained against the iron, slowly bending it despite it being about an inch thick.

"Time to deal with you," she said once she was out. She took the Net and ripped it apart. It was like paper to her. "And now to get out."

* * *

Pietor ran through the deserted corridor silently, his gun drawn. He heard a noise: footsteps about twenty metres away. Just under ten people. He ducked into the shadows as they turned into his field of vision.

"- we've only been on high alert for weeks. Can this man not give us a goddamn break?" One of the men moaned.

"All we need to do still is check the weapons locker. Can you please shut your whiney mouth so we can do so?" The front man- presumably the leader- answered. He approached the weapons locker, "er... What's the code again?"

"WeM5#/36fgds:e897533y." Another replied, reading off the phone- like device he held.

"Woah, woah, woah. Slower, please."

"You should really keep your voices down. You never know who might overhear." Pietor said as he stepped out of his hiding space. To say the men were startled was an understatement. They were petrified. Stories and rumours spread far, it seemed. The lead guard made to pull out his gun, but Pietor beat him to it. He brutally smashed the guard's head with his gun and a sickening crunch was heard as he broke his skull. He was dead before he hit the ground.

"Anyone else?" He asked. He received pale faces staring up at him in reply, none of which showing the intention to fight him. "Good. Place your weapons on the ground and kick them away. No tricks." They complied and Pietor acted without hesitation. He harshly grabbed the man closest to him and held him so that he shielded his body, reducing any chance of the others retrieving a gun and shooting him to nil. He wrapped his hands around his throat, squeezing gradually but firmly. He said something inaudible and was dissatisfied with the answer he received. As fast as a mamba, he snapped the man's head back and punched the back of it, hard. Blood trickled out of his neck as a result of his compound fracture. Pietor shoved his corpse to the ground. As predicted, the guns had been reclaimed by the security and they were clinging onto them like it was their only chance of survival. He plastered an apprehensive expression on his face as he slowly raised his hands. Four of the remaining guards surrounded him in a square; the other remained where he was. The latter made a signal- which would've been invisible to any other person- for the men to open fire. He ducked in anticipation of the angry bullets, causing the men to shoot each other. A classic move, and yet it still managed to fool many.

He addressed he last man. "Now, I would love to chat but I'm afraid I have some pressing business to attend to. Who's in charge of the Unitiy's agents?"

"His name is Hendrick. He's on the pale side, brown hair, abnormally bright green eyes. Oh, God, please... don't hurt me." The glorified ape dropped his weapon in undiluted fear. Pietor pressed his gun into his gut.

"What else can you tell me?"

"N-n-nothing," he stuttered, "I swear I know nothing."

"Pity. In that case, you have outworn your usefulness to me."

"No... Don't hurt me. I have a wife and kids and a dog and-"

"Don't worry; I'm not going to hurt you." Pietor moved his gun to the other's head and pulled the trigger. "I'm was going to kill you," he added as he stared at the lifeless eyes. As a siren went off, he ran out of the corridor.

He ran through the maze of a building, trying to find something but he wasn't sure what that 'something' was. He would normally be more prepared, however getting intelligence on this place had proven difficult. So far, he had managed to avoid any other encounters with UAUP's workers. It would be immensely stealthier to not have a trail of bodies leading to his whereabouts. As he came to a dead end, he realized something was wrong; he was being followed.

"Freeze!" Someone yelled from behind him. "Put your hands where I can see them! State your name, rank and reason for being here." Pietor turned to face the man. According to the guard he spoke to earlier, this man was Hendrick. And his was right, his eyes- which weren't dissimilar to light bulbs- were abnormally bright.

"Tell me where he is."

"Who?"

"Your traitor."

"Traitor?" Hendrick parroted.

"Yes, I was sent by security to eliminate him. It seems he has been working for the Furan's the whole time. I was told his codename is Jay."

"I see," Hendrick said while narrowing his eyes sceptically and lowering his gun, "but how can you prove your identity?"

"I don't need to," he replied, voice taking on a cold, concrete tone, "and you have no choice." Pietor swiftly pressed the nerve clusters in the man's hand, forcing him to drop his weapon.

"Floor minus three, training area 41."

"Thank you for your co- operation. You have been most useful." He shot Hendrick twice in his chest and walked in the general direction of the stairs.

* * *

665 was loose. The message echoed in the hall she found herself in. Luckily she was alone, but now the Unitiy's soldiers would be alerted to her escape attempt. Great. She pushed open thick doors, possibly made from titanium. The area was still deserted, but that only sent alarm bells ringing furiously and relentlessly in her mind. She brushed them off; it was not like any guards would be able to fight her when she was at full strength. She heard a soft moan.

"Hello?" She asked, aware of how naïve she must've sounded. She stepped further into the corridor and looked both ways down it. To her left, slumped against the wall was Hendrick. He was bleeding from at least one wound in his chest.

"Come here, child," he croaked, beckoning her. For once, there was no malice in his voice. "Your mother had a friend. His name is Matthew "Matty" Jackson. He is working to liberate you freaks. Go to him; he can help you. He lives..." His breath started fading and his eyes fluttered closed. "He lives with your grandfather. Tell him Jake sent you."

"Who's Jake?" She asked quickly, knowing his time was nearly up.

"I am." 665 felt for a pulse as he sank further down the wall even though she knew it was not there. She had no reason to believe he was lying- he certainly didn't show any of the telltale signs of it. A strange feeling swept over her, despite the Net being destroyed. She felt... Human somehow. She felt alive.

_"Sometimes all you need is somebody to remind you that you are just a human."_ How many times had her mother said that to her? How many times had she questioned it? She realized now that they were true. She had needed some one. And in a discrete way- perhaps by filling in the gaps of her past- her uncle had done just that. It may be too late for her to become Lilia again, but she didn't have to be a mindless killing machine either. _Furans,_ she thought, _you better watch your backs._


	6. Chapter 6- Chasing

"We should be safe here for a while," Sasha told the apprehensive looking children. "So make yourselves at home, but be sure to keep a bag packed just in case." She gestured at their non- existent luggage. "If you need me, I'll be downstairs."

"For a while?" Paula asked the space Sasha had occupied a moment before. "Define 'a while.'"

"I don't care," Paul announced, flopping onto the sofa that dominated a side of the room the scientist had led them to. "As long as they buy pizza."

"We are on the run from what are, perhaps, the most dangerous people alive and you want pizza," she admonished.

"With stuffed crust. And maybe some ketchup. And if we do get caught we can do that weird thing we did in the fire. I think."

"You put _pizza_ in _tomato ketchup?_ Quite frankly, that is revolting."

"Don't knock it 'till you try it."

"Are you sure you're my brother?"

"Your twin, in fact."

"I deserve a reward."

"I think you do."

"Kids!" Steve yelled from below, "come here!"

Somewhat reluctantly, they trudged down the cold, bare metal steps; was rest too much to ask for? Or, for that matter, was colour? The safehouse was quite a depressing sight to behold. The exterior suggested that this was once an average house, but it was now derelict and just _plain._ The walls were made of solid white brick (which was actually, upon further inspection, extraordinarily thick titanium), the door was grey and the garden had been ripped up long ago. If it weren't for the overhanging branches if the house next door's trees, it would be like stepping into a black and white film. The interior was just as boring with exception of the peculiar weapons lining the wall and the body armour hanging from the back of the door. There was enough for a small army.

"As you will have figured, this is only a temporary solution," Steve began, "We will either find a better alternate solution or this place will be compromised. In case of the latter event, you need to be able to defend yourselves and we need to know can, just because it's nice to know. So I suggest-"

Sasha cut him off. "What he means is: we know you are able to look after yourselves due to your- admittedly limited- training at the Glasshouse but we need to assess how well. Have they taught you to shoot?"

"No," the twins replied in perfect unison.

"Have they taught you to fight?" Steve enquired.

Before they could reply, Sasha exclaimed, "do you know what the Glasshouse is?"

"I suppose that was a stupid question."

There was a series of almost inaudible prolonged, high- pitched beeps which became more and more insistant by the second. A bomb. The room's occupants looked for it frantically- in Steve, Paul and Paula's cases- and methodically- in Sasha's case.

"You asked the definition of a while," Paul stated, gesturing to the window closest to the door. "It was about five minutes."

The other three spontaneously turned to look in the area he indicated. Sure enough, someone had cut a hole in the bullet- proof glass and dropped the bomb in the room. The bomb that was rolling towards the door...

"Get down!" The adults yelled at the same time.

"Great minds think alike," Sasha muttered.

"Except your mind isn't," Steve objected, earning an ice cold look. She looked as though she was going to make a cutting reply, but she decided against it. That, or she didn't actually have anything to say.

"You three," she instructed. "Go through the back door and wait for me by the nearest McDonald's. Only if you are able to do so unharmed, that is. If not, don't worry- you'll be very easy for me to track under Steve's command."

"What about you?" He asked, ignoring the comment.

"I'll cover our tracks and then I'll join you."

"Stay safe. Who else would I get to argue with 24/ 7 and not get bored?"

"I love you too."

Despite knowing it was a joke, Steve felt himself go a bit red.

"What back-" Paul was rudely cut off by a deafening explosion as the room was filled with thick, black smoke and armed men. "That would be our cue to leave."

With Steve in the lead, the trio moved away from the danger, to the back of the room. He stopped and started tugging at the floor.

"Are you mad?" Paul asked.

"No, I'm trying to open this stupid door. Oh! The key; I completely forgot to unlock it." He slapped his forehead.

"Idiot," Paula muttered.

He produced a large red key from around his neck. Finally, there was some colour in the building!

"Hurry," she urged as the men were slowly advancing despite Sasha's utterly ruthless defence.

"One second..." he replied.

"And that's ten points to Steve for opening a door!" Paul cheered.

"It was designed to let nobody through, I'll have you know." He pointed down the hole in the floor; it's end was out of sight. "Ladies first."

Paula had experienced many scary things in her life, but the trip down the ladder topped the list with ease. It was covered in some slimy stuff she couldn't identify and was sure she didn't want to. Every time she moved, it threatened to send her tumbling into the abyss bellow. As for a safety check, she was certain that those responsible were too cowardly to test the ladder due to its unstableness. The lack of light (as Steve wasn't stupid enough to leave the door wide open) didn't help the situation. "Shit," she muttered as her legs suddenly hit the ground, sending a sudden jolt through her body.

"Left." Steve whispered, aided by echoes.

"It's not like I can go right 'cause of a bloody stone wall."

"Point acqknowledged. Point discarded."

"This stinks," Paul chipped in before things could get ugly. It was true, the maze they found themselves had not been maintained and mould had formed on the stone walls and the air was moist.

"Try not to think about it and you won't notice it." Paula advised.

At the same time: "the smell of your blood as it pools around you in close proximity after you've been fatally wounded would smell much worse, believe me."

"But it wouldn't be fatal, would it?"

"Junction," Paula said. "Which way?"

"Left."

"Left?" She hadn't heard him properly due to being half wrapped in her thoughts.

"Right."

"Right?"

"As in, left is the right way." He sounded impatient. "Keep moving."

"Maybe you should've gone first then."

They navigated their way around the tunnels for what felt like hours. Finally Paula hit a wall, which she was none too pleased about. When she asked Steve why he didn't warn her, he merely shrugged and said she should've been paying more attention.

"Access denied." The voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

"What?" Steve shouted at it as he furiously prodded a section of the wall. "Come on!"

"Access denied."

Pause.

"Access denied."

"Maybe you need to unlock it," Paul suggested cheekily.

"Shut- actually, you have a point."

After a few more seconds, part of the ceiling swung open and the bit of floor they were on started to rise.

"Perception filter." Steve said, not needing to look at their bewildered faces. "They can't see us or this patch of ground."

"It's a good thing they don't go over this apparent hole in the ground." Paul raised his eyebrow sceptically.

"Kids these days." Steve sighed. "You show them something incredible and they argue against its practicality or possibility." He sounded genuinely upset.

"Sorry."

"It's too late." Steve put up a hand and sniffed dramatically.

They arrived level with the rest of the world. Tall buildings looked over them on either side and the pavement was as narrow as it was dirty. And it was horrendous.

"Come on, kids!" Steve said, back to the cheery idiot. "This way!"

"I wonder when Sasha will be joining us." Paula murmered to her brother.

"Hopefully soon." He replied just as quietly.

"I can hear you. Advanced senses, remember."

"How come you get that and we don't." Paul complained.

"When me and Sash... _changed,_ we used an earlier type of that solution. Advanced senses was one of the benefits. The other was speed. Enough to get past the Unnatural's senses."

"Why did you adapt it to become worse, then?"

"Because we want other people unfortunate enough to need it to be as normal as possible."

"McDonald's." Paula said, suddenly stopping.

"We are on the run from what are, perhaps the most dangerous people on Earth, and you want McDonald's." Paul mimicked her.

"Sasha told us to meet her at the nearest McDonald's. There it is."

"So, what would you like?" Steve asked.

"Eh?" Was the reply he got as opposed to a polite 'sorry' or 'excuse me'. Forgive him for asking.

"We may as well have something to eat while we wait. I don't know about you two, but I'm ravenous."

"I'll have chips. And a Big Mac. And everything on their menu, please." Paul requested. He licked his lips, "and we can't forget the ketchup."

* * *

"What on _Earth_ is this cheese made of?" Steve exclaimed a bit too loudly as he bit into his cheeseburger. They hadn't payed for the meal- instead, they opted to grab it as the order number was called out. Steal from the rich and give to the poor; they could blame cartoons for their behaviour.

"I think we're being watched," Paul said quietly. "That man purposely didn't look at you making a fuss."

His sister laughed. "You've watched one too many movies, little brother."

"You are only older than me by three minuites, goddamn it."

"Don't you forget it."

"He has a point." Steve objected.

"See. Our age difference is three minuites and irrelevant."

"Not that. The man has quite a few guns. A little suspicious, don't you think."

The man in question strode up to them. "Bitches, that was my order." His voice was more of a growl and had a French accent.

He was tall and muscled and concealed weaponry underneath his beige trench coat. The hood was up and hid most of his face, but he was pale and was in possession of a huge moustache.

"It's a little more than what's needed for one person." Paul informed him.

"And as for you." He pointed at Steve. "I like my cheeseburgers so you've just made me double pissed."

Undeterred, Steve stood up, keeping one had on the tray the food was still on. Meanwhile, a couple of McDonald's workers heard the commotion and moved to intercept. Moustache man saw it and pulled out his gun. "Don't move, motherfuckers!"

"You really shouldn't use such foul language with little kids around." Steve remarked.

"We'll see how much you care about that when you're on your knees and begging for mercy."

"I don't think that'll happen. In fact... See ya!" With that he threw the tray into his face. The three used his momentary distraction to run out of the building.

The man brought his gun and took aim at them but a sudden high- pitched scream caused his had to twitch as he fired.

"Stupides enfants qui pleurent."

[Translation: stupid crying kids]

He tapped his comms. "They've fallen into your trap. All three I saw are alive but one's missing."

"Understood."

Time to enjoy a nice milkshake.

* * *

"Who was that?" Paula asked through laboured breaths.

"At a guess, one of Furan's men, although they're normally better than that." Steve said. "Now let me hot wire this vehicle."

"I wasn't exactly stopping you."

The engine roared into life and Steve pulled out into the abnormally light traffic at break- neck speed. "Lights and siren," he instructed. As Paula looked around for them, Paul seemed to know exactly where they were and activated them.

"That was quick," she commented.

"Been in a police car before." He shrugged.

"We've got company." Steve said.

Five other cars broke from the rest and chased after them.

"We're screwed." Paula stated.

"Don't use that tone with me, young lady." Steve snapped. "Optimism is key."

"I dare you to be optimistic about this."

"Well, these five lanes become three when we go through the tunnel. With no time for the left and right two cars to merge lanes, we can say bye- bye."

"I'm fairly sure they can merge."

"Not at this speed. In fact, wave goodbye to our friends in three... two... one."

For once in his life, Steve was right and the two cars on the outside crashed straight into the wall of the tunnel and went up in flames. It was a spectacular sight.

Paula- who was sitting in the back- clung onto the headrests and got on her knees, facing the remaining three cars. She stuck out her tongue and pulled a face. It was just too bad she didn't see the gun. Her eyes widened in shock as the bullet pierced the glass and entered her forehead. Then she collapsed backwards, dead instantly.

"No..." Paul whispered, tears in his eyes. "No, no, no, no, _no,_" he said, silently vowing to kill the man who did this.

"Do you have a gun? Or a grenade? Or something?" He asked.

"I have a gun but-"

"Give it to me." Paul's voice had taken on a dark edge.

"Don't let them make you a killer."

"Give it to me. Now."

Steve didn't bother arguing. Their safety was more important. Paul took the gun roughly and climbed to the back seats, closing Paula's eyelids and kissing her cheek on the way. He struggled to keep the tears at bay, but he had to- there was revenge to be taken. He took a deep breath and took aim. He looked directly into the driver's eyes and smiled as he died. It took only a few seconds. The pursuing car lost control and smashed into the left one. One to go. He took aim again, but the other man beat him to it. The car started spinning as one of the wheels was hit. However, the hostile force exploded as the car behind it threw in a grenade. Sasha had arrived.

_Arrived too late._

Steve brought the vehicle under control and stopped it. The two exited the police car. Sasha approached. "Where's-" she started.

"Don't." Paul snapped. "Do not say her name. You are the reason she's dead- first with the pathetic security of the safehouse, then by making us wait in a public place and then by showing up too late." He furiously wiped the tears off his face.

"Where's Paula?" Sasha continued anyway. Her voice sounded different but Paul found he didn't care why.

"There." He said bitterly as he pointed to the car.

"I'll help you get her out." Steve offered.

The adults entered at opposite doors and knowing they were out of sight and earshot, Steve put his hand over hers.

"It wasn't your fault."

"It is. It always is."

"I know you're thinking of your dad." Steve said. "And I also know he would tell you that it was those stupid pigeons fault even if you fired the gun yourself."

Sasha chuckled. "Yeah, he would." She reached to check Paula's pulse.

"She alive yet?" Steve asked.

"Just. Now, you take the legs."

After they managed to manoeuvre her out the car, she regained her consciousness.

"What-" she began hoarsely.

"Paul." Steve shouted. "Come here."

"What?" He said sharply as he made his was over. But then he saw his sister and the coldness was gone. Steve and Sasha allowed the kids a few moments before the latter announced that they should leave.

"Where to now?" Paula asked, her voice regaining some strength.

"Good question." Sasha replied.

"We could go to that bar." Steve suggested.

"Sounds good enough for now."

They arrived at about ten pm. The bar was fairly large and entirely abandoned.

"Stairs are through there," Steve told the children. "Turn left and there are only two rooms, so I'm afraid you're going to have to share. Bathroom's up the stairs too but turn right."

As the two left to get their well earned rest, Steve turned to Sasha. "Back at the safe house..." He trailed off.

"Back at the safehouse?"

"Nevermind. Go rest. Those were a lot of men you have to fight- you're bound to be exhausted."

As she went up to what would be her's and Steve's room, the twins called her.

"Yeah?"

"How do these lives work?" Paula asked.

"If you're injured, you'll heal until you die in your last life. You get three, but Paul's down to two and Paula will die for real next time. Any more questions will have o wait until morning, I'm afraid. Steve knows more about this than I do."

Paula couldn't sleep. Whether it was to do with the day's events or her brother's snoring was beyond her. She sighed softly and resigned herself to being awake. Pulling on her shoes, she made her way into the passage and looked at the room opposite. The lights were out and it was dead silent. _Dead_... She shook her head; she just needed some fresh air.

The night was dark and cloudy so there was no illumination from the stars. Street lights were too far away to be seen. It reminded her of her demise.

"Hello?" She whispered, just to be sure.

_"Hello?" She yelled, frightened, blackness pressing in on all sides. She didn't think her claustrophobia could be so bad. She sank down to her knees- well, she willed her body to but found she couldn't move. "Hello?" She tried again, louder but she still couldn't hear her voice. Something moved- she could feel it. Were they souls? No, they didn't exist. Ghosts? Helplessly, she started to scream as a bright light rushed towards her._

_"-take the legs." Someone said. Was she being kidnapped? Oh lord, the last thing she wanted was to be kidnapped._

"Miss?" The man made her jump as she came back to reality. At the time, she hadn't been experiencing death. It was the revival.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Sure." To her pleasure, her voice was even and clear.

He smiled in a way that made her slightly uncomfortable. "My name is Ashley, by the way."

"Paul-"

"Paul?" Ashley exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise.

"No, no. Paula, with an 'a'." She laughed, the feeling completely evaporated.

She only went back inside when it was morning.


End file.
